


you

by ennisnovember



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221b, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, swaying to lou reed, they Did dance to lou reed i know because i read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennisnovember/pseuds/ennisnovember
Summary: 221b and you. maybe someone is home, playing lou reed.





	you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexaprilgarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexaprilgarden/gifts).



> a dearest mutual in london, posting pictures of "221b baker street", while i am stuck on a boring car-ride. so i daydream myself to london, getting my fingers in knots while trying to ficlet on a smartphone - not so smart after all. but it worked. somehow.

baker street. you stand on the other side of speedy's, looking up. it feels surreal.

you‘ve never been here before and yet you now this place, because in your mind you‘ve been here so many times.  
in summer, when it is searing hot and all of london slows down in idleness  
in autumn, with regent‘s park glowing in beautiful warm colours  
in winter, with sleet and snow outside, fairylights and leonard cohen inside  
in spring, with it’s sweet anticipation of something new and warm…  
you’ve been here in your daydreams, in your mind, so many times.  
you‘ve been here and it feels like the home of your heart.

now you stand in the street with no sense of how many minutes already passed with you here, looking up 221b.

someone seems to be home. the window up in john‘s room. it's open.  
the curtains sway gently in the light breeze and you feel as if you hear a soft tune from somewhere inside. _“oh it’s such a perfect day. i’m glad i spent it with you…”_  
if you could look through the window you‘d see that john's room is empty. a shirt on a hanger dangles on the back of a chair in front of the open window. on the bed a folded up trouser, some socks, a charger.

the door is open, you can still hear the tune. it meanders up the stairs so you follow it's melancholic words down the old steps.  
you stop before the landing. it all feels so familiar, you breath it in, the view, the smell, it warms your heart in this sweetest of ways.

two doors, you know there are two doors. both are open and you can see right through the sitting room to the windows. no one seems to be there, but in the corner of your eye you see a movement. the kitchen. the kitchen is not empty.  
the tune got louder and now you see its source. a phone on the kitchen table.

_“oh such a perfect day...”_

and then you see them. standing in the slide door's frame, holding each other so close. john's head rests against sherlocks shoulder, sherlock has his nose burried deep in the crook of john's neck. with closed eyes they gently sway to reed's blue words, sherlock tenderly stroking john's back, drawing him even closer, you can hear him taking a deep breath.

a déjà-vu.

you stand on the last step of the stairs, trying to hold your own breath.  
_your thoughts start to whisper when the phone goes still. the song is sung, the embrace tightens some more. john lifts his head, murmuring something into sherlocks curls. sherlock shakes a bit. he looks up, he is chuckling. (there you go. you were sure you'd never use this word. “chuckle”. not even in your thoughts. but there it is :) they look at each other, they smile. they smile this beautiful beautiful smile.  
you sigh. this makes your chest expand and your heart swell and you always knew anyway._

_carefully you sneak on the landing and down the stairs of 221b. you can hear a soft giggle, silenced by a shaky gasp and tiny wet noises._

_downstairs you can't but turn around to have a glimpse at mrs hudsons door. the radio is playing, you don't recognise the tune. you recognise everything else._

the door is unlocked. you step out onto the street, a woman dashes past. between two cabs you see yourself standing on the other side of the street, still looking up 221b. you sigh, you cross the street. “come on, you can't stay here all day long.” “why not?” “because creepy? let's move.”


End file.
